


Freedom

by TciddaEmina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Maximum Ride - James Patterson
Genre: Human Experimentation, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3966175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TciddaEmina/pseuds/TciddaEmina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you were raised in captivity, you did not know freedom, and you couldn't miss it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Having a problem getting in all the italics. Please ignore the inconsistency of them in places.

Sometimes he dreamed of a life before. Of a woman who scowled, a man who shouted and a boy who's punches were much too strong for someone his age.

In the dream he would sit in the dark, curled up in his small space as he breathed in musty air and listened to spiders scuttle up the walls. His stomach would growl and his eyes would be fuzzy and he would wait and wait and wait for the door to open.

The door didn't open much.

One day it did open, but it was to the sounds of raised voices. They argued and haggled and said 'That's not enough, he's worth more!' before rough hands grabbed him and drew him from the dark safety of his space. They were big, with round glasses and cold eyes and suits that were black black black.

They were big and they were mean and they took him away.

He didn't dream much, and when he did the faces always faded so fast. Sand slipping between his fingers. The names and faces of those who had given him away fogging away until all he could remember was that it had been dark, and he had been hungry.

He didn't dream much, but sometimes he thought that that was probably for the best.

.

When you were raised in captivity, you did not know freedom, and you couldn't miss it.

Imprisonment was what he knew, what he understood. The rules of his existence were set in stone and any attempt at defiance was met with harsh retribution. He lived as he had always done, in resigned submission. Unknowing that he had any other option, but always aware of the restless feeling, the emptiness, that stalked his every moment. The constant need for something he did not know.

Since before he could remember his life had been this way: an endless cycle of sleep, food, and experiments. There was some variation, of course. On some days the experiments took longer, other times they were shorter. But they had always been a part of his life, coming hand in hand with their constant companion: pain.

He didn't know his name or how old he was. Neither how long he had been here or even where here was. But he did knew two things for certain, he wasn't like them, and he didn't like it here.

There were several things that distinguished him from them. They could speak, he could not. They could leave, he could not. He was experimented on, they were not. He had wings, they did not.

Sometimes he heard them talking, the ones that came and left, when they did the experiments. He had never learnt to talk, but for some reason he had always known how to understand them.

They called him Subject A0, and he was the first of their experiments that had succeeded.

Apparently there was something about him that made him different from the failed experiments, subjects 0 through 57. He was the only one that had not died or mutated beyond the point of being human after the introduction of foreign DNA into his genes, and they didn't know why.

Was it the amount of added DNA? His age when the DNA was implanted? Or the specific DNA used, that of the Corvus corax? The Common raven. They had tested those variables on different subjects, but none of them had survived, let alone succeeded. Was it his own genes? There was something different about him, even before the avian DNA was introduced, but they hadn't been able to find anything different about his genetic make up compared to that of an average human.

The experiments continued. More and more and more, on both himself and other subjects - A1 through A73 - until they had determined that the variable was unknown and had instead attempted to recreate all variables as closely as they could to those that created him.

It was then that they created Subjects B26, B31 and B49. Those ones survived too, but they weren't like him. It wasn't because of something in their DNA, but rather because they finally found a way of successfully integrating the new DNA into the human. They started before they were born, it was the only way they had found so far that allowed the subject to survive the process and properly assimilate the new DNA.

He never actually met Subjects B26, B31 and B49, but he listened to them talking about the successful B subjects. Two boys and a girl. When they were born, alive and healthy, they were abuzz with excitement, causing a small lull in the his own experiments as they tested their newest subjects.

It pained him in a way he hadn't known could hurt before, a gaping wound through the centre of his chest bleeding guilt into him to think of infants being tested the way he had. It wasn't a physical pain, nothing had happened recently that could have caused it - they were in a period of psychological testing. Preferring to analyze his mental state rather than pump him full of chemicals or snip pieces of him away.

It was weird, feeling pain for them. He had never encountered a newborn child before, but he knew it was something to be protected, especially if it was his own. But even then he couldn't help but feel a little happy that their attention was off him, even if just for a few hours. Guilt consumed him with every second they relented his torment to turn their punishments elsewhere. He may have grown up in solitude and captivity, but he wouldn't wish the tests they put him through on any other. Not for anything in the world.

There was nothing he could do about it, so he continued on as he had before. Helpless. Submissive. Weak. Empty.

He continued to listen, keeping an eye on the B subjects as best he could. They were moved to a different facility, a new one had apparently opened somewhere in the 'middle of nowhere' in America, where ever that was.

For a long while he heard nothing new, only the same information told over and over again as new testers came and went, each one wanting to know about the other successful experiments as they studied him. It seemed that they had been unable to create more successful subjects after the B subjects, or at least none that did not die before birth or soon after, that is until subject B164, another girl, this one also different from the others. She had dark skin where all other successful subjects had been fair skinned.

Some of them found this amusing, while others found it frustrating. Something about some Hitler and an Aryan theory, which some of them had believed might be they key to the success of experiments. Apparently the Aryan theory was no longer a valid explanation because of subject B164. Whatever the Aryan theory was, it obviously wasn't very good.

Again there was a lesser amount of experiments once subject B164 proved to be a success, but this time he was not glad for it, just sad.

For some reason his sadness seemed to excite them. ‘Depression’ they said and began to test him with new fervor. Throwing him into an array of experiments both psychological and physical in order to determine what the cause and effects of this mood were on him, and how it affected the results they already had.

It was long. It was painful. It was constant. It was a repeat of as many experiments as they could manage for the entire time they deemed him 'depressed'. He didn't like it. His heart beat faster and he felt cold inside, but at the same time hot, a bubbling warmth that grew from day to day. Equal parts a smouldering heat and glacial cold that creeped through his being. He didn't know the names for these feelings, he didn't like the first one, the one that made him skittish and flinching at the presence and movement of any of them, but he liked the other ones, the warm fiery one and the freezing patient one.

He like those ones very much, they helped him think things, terrible things. Like the pain he could inflict on them, the hurt they would feel, if only he were unbound, uncaged and undrugged. As it was any damage he could inflict would be superficial and would only put them on alert for further attacks he might make, lessening his chances at ever escaping from this hell.

More tests happened and he was rendered unable to hear for a time. He didn't know how long but it was a very long time, longer than the time between the success of B26, B31 and B49 and that of B164, and that had been a long time.

Eventually he regained his hearing and what he heard made the fire inside him blaze, there were two new successful subjects: B293 and B358. They said it took most of a year for an experiment to be created, even if it was unsuccessful, and the rest of that year for the subject to be considered successful. Even with a large number of experiments running simultaneously it would take several years to go from subject number B164 to B293, and even more time because it was actually from B162 to B358. Several of these 'years' at least.

Many of them were angry that it took so many years between successful subjects. The rate of success of the first 3 successful B subjects, of 3 in one year, not having occurred again. Mostly he found their frustration amusing, seeing them tie themselves into knots and argue amongst themselves gave him no end of pleasure and petty satisfaction.

B293 and B358 were siblings, a brother and sister to be exact, and they, along with subject B164, had been moved to the same facility as B26, B31 and B49. He had at some point wondered why he wasn't moved there too, he had overheard some of them discussing it and had been interested to find out that they were weary of what his reaction might be if he encountered another like him. It had puzzled him at first, why they had thought he would react badly to the B subjects, but then he had realized that he hadn't ever shown them any indication that he was more mentally advanced than an infant. He did not speak, by no fault of his own, it wasn't as if anybody had bothered to teach him in the first place. Neither could he read, which is what they did when they looked at different symbols and used them to record information and communicate non-verbally, again by no fault of his own. And on top of that he had been making a determined effort to give the least amount of reaction to any tests and experiments conducted on him. Mostly as a sort of passive resistance since actual rebellion against them was a yet unobtainable goal.

There was a small part of him, deep in the more animalistic part of his mind, that knew that the less they thought him capable of, the more chance he had of escaping and evading them when – when and not if - he got the chance to escape.

It was a long time before that chance came.

He thinks another year of two may have gone by between the point in which the newest B subjects were moved elsewhere and the time that they started to talk about trying a new method of creating subjects. He still wasn't certain how long a year was, or how you measured them, so he didn't know if he was right in his assumption of time, but that was his estimation.

They never talked about what exactly the experiment would entail within his hearing range, but he learn't enough to be weary. It would be called procedure C, for a new method of creating subjects, and would differ drastically from method 0, the first method, one that never succeeded - which added the DNA into adult humans. Method A, which created him, their first success - this one introduced the DNA into already born children, and then method B - which implanted the DNA into unborn children. He was the first and only successful experiment of method A, none of the other subjects had survived before the few successful B subjects.

Method C planned to use the semen of A0, which was him, to attempt to breed further successful subjects.

At first he didn't understand what this meant. It didn't take him long to catch on. When he figure out that they wished to create his children for the purpose of their tests and experiments he was ill, violently throwing up what little food he was given until his throat was burning from his own stomach acids. Becoming consumed by the fire and ice that raged within his being, making him unable to eat, unable to sleep, unable to stop the need to retch again at the thought of any children of his making having to go through what he had.

He didn't let them near him, attacked them if they came close, breaking their bones and biting their flesh when they tried to approach him. Never let his guard down and resting, lest they use it as an opportunity to destroy his resistance through slyer means. Rejected everything they gave him, whether it be food or water.

It was an open resistance, his passive means thrown to the wind once he heard their plans for him. He learned a lot of things about himself during that time. He was protective to the point of extreme aggression when it came to anything he deemed his, such as any future children he may have. He was able to stay awake almost constantly, only needing a few moments sleep, to be active for any amount of time. That he was able to see in the dark, it wasn't as good his vision in the light, which was sharp and clear, but he was by no means blind in the darkness. And finally, that if he hit someone with his wings at full force he was capable of breaking their bones and knocking them unconscious with the force of the blow.

It seemed that having a wingspan of 18 feet was worth the experiments after all, even if only to see them flail in shock at the idea that he was intelligent enough to use his wings as an advantage against them.

Apparently they had thought that the long longevity of Corvus corax would slow both his mental maturation, not just that of his body. It had not, at least where his mind was concerned. He wasn't sure how old he was or what his body looked like in comparison to that age, but he was hardly the child they thought him to be.

Time passed, and their attempts at subduing him continued to fail. He was growing weaker, dehydration and starvation starting to take their toll on him. His body grew emaciated, even thinner that it had already been, his ribs beginning to show, and continuing until he could see them all clearly, and his resistance weaker, his struggle still strong but not as powerful as it had been.

He could still feel the burning heat and the thickening cold, they were still there. The sickness he had felt, the revulsion and disgust, what had once been an advantage against them, allowing him to resist both food and water, was becoming his enemy. Ravaging his body and weakening him dangerously.

He was failing, bit by bit, his strength being chipped away one shard at a time. And he felt dread, knowing that if things continued as they were currently he would not be able to last much longer and would lose what he was fighting for: the fate of any possible descendants.

He didn't know escape was an option because he didn't know what escape was, or what the freedom it would achieve was either. He had never felt freedom and he did not know it, save for a vague restless feeling that sometimes plagued him, longing for something. That didn't change the fact that he found out what it was not long after.

Alarms went off, causing them to jump and run about, shouting questions and demanding answers. The B subjects had escaped, they said, they had gotten out and were free.

He had not heard the word free before, but when he did it changed his world. It was like a trigger, causing an avalanche of feelings and instinct to explode from the animal part of his mind, the avian part. Air. It screamed. Wind. Sky. Sea. Water. Rain. Snow. Ice. Cold. Warm. Sun. Green. Land. Free. Free. Free. Free.

He would be free.

Escape was easy. Having to fight his way through of growing group of enemies, all of them with weapons and tranquilizers and a sick determination to keep him there, was hard. Making his way outside, through an endless labyrinth of corridors and laboratories, was hard. Beating his way into the air, when his wings were weak and his flying unpracticed, was hard. Flying for the first time, his wing muscles weakened by disuse and a bullet lodged in his left wing, was hard. Escape, all of those combined into one, was easy. Or at least easier than he had expected it would be.

He didn't know where he was, but he knew he was in the northern hemisphere, and that if he continued at his current speed and trajectory he would arrive at the sea within two hours. He didn't know why he was going there, but some part of him knew that the sea was where he would be strong, where he would be safe. Or at least safer than he would be over land where the humans could follow him more easily.

The land around him was mountainous, but not very tall, just large rocky hills with a scarce scattering of trees here and there. Where there were not rocky hills the lands gave way to grassy swamps, whose water glistened murkily in the light as he flew across them, making sure to keep high above the ground in case a search party came after him.

It took some time, and by the time he got there he was exhausted, but he didn't stop. If he did they would catch him, and his escape would all be for naught, they would tie him down, drug him, and drag him back to the laboratories. He would not allow it, not with what was at risk. There was more wind by the sea, strong buffeting currents of air flying across the water, whipping the waves into a frenzy as they went. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Spreading his wings as far as he could, he let them catch the wind, angling them slightly so that he would be sent higher into the air. As he passed over the pebbled beach and onto the open water flying became easier, either because he was getting used to it or because of his seabird DNA, he didn't know which and at that point he didn't much care.

He rose even higher into the sky, letting himself be carried ever further away from the facility that had been his cage for as long as he could remember. The thought made him laugh for the first time in his life, it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and now that it was gone it would not come back.

He was free.

.

When you lived without freedom for your entire life and then were one day released from your bonds, you never forgot. Your life from before stayed with you, a constant reminder of what would happen should you let your freedom be taken from you. Once you knew freedom you could say with absolute certainty that you would never give it up, not for money, fame or power, not even on threat of your life. Death was preferable to returning to a life of imprisonment.

He was free, and he would die before he lost that freedom.

For the first few years he wandered aimlessly, his wings becoming adjusted to long hours of flight both above land and sea. He followed the wind and currents anywhere they would take him, but staying firmly away from Europe, or more specifically the United Kingdom, which was where the facility he had escaped from was located. Somewhere in the the most northern north-west part of Scotland, one of the least populated parts of the UK.

He thinks that it might be whatever allowed him to survive the DNA implantation process in the first place that made that possible. That little spark of something that kept his muscles strong and let him fly for far longer than should have been possible given his physical condition. It was a warmth that thrummed through his veins, accelerating his healing and keeping him aloft for days on end as he winged his way across whole oceans.

A few times he was almost caught again, captured by what he learned to call the scientists, but that was only for a short period of time after he won his freedom. Back when he was still learning how to avoid them. It took only one close call for him to make himself one rule, the only rule he would allow to restrict him.

Stay over the water whenever possible.

They couldn't keep up with him when he was flying over the ocean, where, if the wind was at its strongest, he could fly at speeds of up to 100km per hour, carried at impossible speeds by the spark of power that boiled through his body and delivered him from danger. Leaving them so far behind him that it would take them hours to catch up enough to even catch sight of him. The scientists had tried to catch him at sea, with both planes and boats, but he could fly circles around them and still escape for the most part unharmed and completely free if he was at sea.

On land was a different matter entirely. There there were mountains, and in some cases large buildings that blocked the wind, slowing him down and forcing him either lower to the ground or much higher into the sky. It was when he had made the mistake of flying low that they had almost captured him.

He had been in Flores, a small island roughly 2 thousand km from the nearest large country, Portugal. It had been roughly a week and a half into his newfound freedom and he had decided to land for the first time, not having a proper need to before as he had found himself capable to taking mini power naps without falling from the sky. Fish as it turned out, wasn't that hard to catch or that bad to eat raw, perhaps because ravens were carrion eaters?

They had been waiting for him, hidden behind trees and within nearby buildings that had seemed so empty just seconds ago. As soon as his feet touched the ground and he folded his wings behind him he was swarmed, nets and rope appearing everywhere and enveloping him. The scientists had gained the cooperation of the local police force, all of whom had likely been payed to assist and keep their mouths shut about the event afterwards.

He had escaped, tearing rope and bodies apart as he went, but barely. That was the closest they ever come to capturing him again. It was then that he learned of the tracking device implanted in his arm, a small piece of technology that would let them stalk him around the globe and chase him to the ends of the earth.

It had hurt when he cut it out, endless agony that still prickled his scars like a phantom pain even years later whenever he saw his own blood and was reminded. The wounds were large, the scars long and thick, mostly because he hadn't know which arm it was in, or even where it was within his arm. It ended with both of his arms covered in deep cuts, wells of bright red blood which he had probed to search his flesh for the device, biting back screams and letting salty tears run down his face and sting at the wounds they touched as he did. His arms healed, but not quickly, forcing him to spend months with both arms wrapped in bloody bandages, unable to change them as much as needed what with the limmitation on what he could buy, leaving a mess of thick scar tissue patterning his arms as the wounds closed and were replaced by marred flesh. He was only grateful the wounds hadn't gotten infected. That would have been a nightmare, and probably proved fatal.

It wasn't exactly easy blending in with people, especially not with white hair, something he attributed to what amounted to years of torture. His wings were black like a ravens, unlike his hair. Iridescent black with glossy feathers that, during the day, almost held a sheen of dark purple. In the night the black blended into the darkness, something that had saved his hide more than once when avoiding nighttime search parties.

He was unusual, easily recognisable even when he hid his wings. White hair, large scars, and his inability to talk, read and write, all setting him apart from regular humans. It made him harder to forget, easier to track, vulnerable to staying in one place too long, just another reason that wandering, that remaining at sea and away from humans, was better.

Eventually he had to brave human society, to enter their cities and walk through their crowds, but for the first few trips he was forced into proximity with normal people he went under cover of night. Staying away from people and prioritizing finding some clean, sturdy clothes and a coat long enough to cover his wings. He had no money, so that left theft. That wasn't hard either, the windows on the upper stories of buildings were thought, for the most part, inaccessible to humans and were not wired up with a lot of, if any, alarms.

For a while they watched him with curious eyes, pitying eyes, thinking him homeless or a runaway, he didn't try to fit in, didn't try to hide the state he lived it. That it until someone called social services on him, as they all eventually did. And they thought they were being helpful and doing their duty as honest citizens. Pathetic. 

'There's a poor homeless boy wandering around, you have to come and help him', complete bullshit of course, assumptions made about him by a normal person, but it didn't stop the local authorities chasing him around until he was far enough away that he could take to the skies without them seeing. After the first three times of this happening he just decided to find ways to fit in better, trying to remain either unnoticeable or easily forgotten.

It took another year and a half before he was capable to traversing human society without arousing suspicion. Namely that of the legal authorities and the sort of dedicated citizens who would be “concerned” and inform those authorities, and therefore the scientists as well, of his whereabouts and conditions. Learning to mimic the body language of normal people, the image of carefree ignorance in which they lived and which their every moment portrayed, was harder than would be expected. So was learning to act and dress in a manner that would cause them to forget him, to look at him then look away and not realize what they had seen, especially with the number of easily recognizable features he was unable to hide.

A long black trenchcoat, dark ripped jeans, a few piercings in his ears and some cheap black eyeliner around his eyes, that was all it took. He made himself look like the kind of thing that society tried to ignore, a goth, an emo, whatever you wanted to call it. They looked at him and saw someone that they wouldn't want to talk to, someone they shouldn't interact with, someone they wanted to forget they had seen, and that was exactly what he wanted.

It was almost amusing how the way you dressed and held yourself completely changed people's perceptions of you. Instead of a homeless scarred child they saw a punk trying to make a statement, a boy rebelling against his parents by dying his hair white and growing it out. Even getting pierced, and in one spot tattooed, a small flock of silhouetted birds over his left collarbone. Dressing in black leather, or rather the cheapest imitation he could find that suited his other requirements in clothes - namely length, durability, resistance to water and pockets. Lots of pockets.

In a way it was harder than living in the lab, there all necessities had been brought to him and though he was tormented constantly, the scientist made sure to keep him in relatively good health. Now he had to provide for himself, take care of his own needs and safety, it was difficult at first, but he got used to it.

He still didn't have a name, hadn't bothered to choose himself one. He had never needed one before and he knew who he was. Thinking of choosing one now made him feel vain. Anyway he wanted his name to mean something, to define him. With his current understanding of English, limited as it was, he feared that if he bother to try he wouldn't find anything worth calling himself. Or worse choose a name that had no meaning only for the sake of actually having a name. No, he would wait, remain nameless until he found a name he felt could be his.

Instead he continued to travel, traversing the earth's different oceans and seas, only sometimes coming to land. Not staying long enough to be remembered but long enough to get what he needed. In an attempt to educate himself further he visited libraries when around English speaking cultures, spending as long as he could safely manage on land going over primers, slowly teaching himself the written English language as best he could.

It took a long time, but was easier than he expected. On the odd occasions he acquires money, usually from doing different small chores in some of the smaller towns he visited - and still had any left after visiting second-hand shops for new clothes, which he kept in his cheap but sturdy backpack - he bought children's books and read them during the long hours he spent gliding over the sea.

Once or twice he dropped them, and they fell into the sea before he could catch them again, splashing heavily into the ocean's cool waters. That didn't bother him too much, he had other books tucked away in his bag. Most of them were largely the same anyway, well save for the stapled bundle of paper he kept within his bag at all times unless he was sure there was no way to lose it, that contained information he had printed from the internet the last time he had visited a library. Information about the common raven. He had figured that it would be useful to have an idea of what he was and what he might be able to do.

.

He met them by accident, not by any design of his own. He had been in the northern hemisphere, somewhere, probably near America. He hadn't exactly bothered to keep track of where, after a while all bits of ocean started to look the same. They had showed up practically out of thin air, or so it seemed. One moment he had been alone and the next there they were flying furiously to catch up to him, calling out to him as they went.

For a moment he entertained the thought of running, or rather flying away, but he didn't. He knew who they were, had known of them since their birth. The B subjects. So he slowed down instead, tilting the few feathers necessary to slow his flight to an almost halt, letting himself glide slowly to a stop and forcing him to flap his wings to keep himself in the air.

He didn't turn around, didn't want to. Now that he had a better grasp of language he could name the feeling that was speeding up his heart beat and making his hands sweat. He was nervous, didn't know why of course, but he was. Would they blame him? If he might have been able to save them, escaped earlier from the facility and hunted them down, freed them from their own cages, taken care of them. It was something he had always regreted, not getting out sooner and freeing them, and later not looking for them.

They had stopped shouting to him once he slowed down, but he could hear the steady beating of their wings, the thump thump thump, as they came closer. A symphony of sound compared to the usual near silence of his own gliding style of flight.

For a moment longer nobody spoke, he could feel their eyes on him, a heavy force boring into his back, but the quiet silence was soon broken by a young voice, high and girly. Probably the youngest, B358 or whatever her name was now.

“See Max, I told you there was another person like us. If you hadn't listened to me and let us come we wouldn't have met him.”

That would be the youngest. Subject B358, the last successful subject he had heard of them creating. It was good to know she was still alive and had survived the five years since their, and therefore his, escape from the laboratories.

“Ok Angel, you're right. I'm sorry for doubting you” 'Max' replied.

“Hey hey, Max, how old do you think he is? Why isn't he looking at us? Why is his hair white? Why isn't he talking?” Another voice asked, firing off questions at 100 miles a hour without stopping for breath. Must have a large lung capacity that one, probably would have been good at swimming if feathers weren't a pain to dry when they got wet. Made it hard to fly, too heavy, too slow, too much of a risk.

“Whoa, his hair's white? What colour, like blonde white or what?” Asked a fourth voice, this one older and male.

“Like white, white. Daisy petal white or like snow! Snow white, isn't that awesome? Max, how do you get white hair like that? Its not even old people white! And theres no other colours in it at all, just really white.”

“You dye it.” Max replied.

No you don't. He wanted to say. You get it from being experimented on your entire life. You don't dye it, where would he get dye from anyway? And why would he want to dye his hair this colour? It made people notice him, and since he couldn't get the dye to change it he had to adjust his act around normal people to incorporate it.

“From experiments.” Angel whispered sadly.

He twisted in midair, sending himself spinning around before he shifted his winds and stopped his rotation. He could hear the B subjects surprised exclamations as his sudden movement, but he could see them now, all of them.

Flapping his wings to regain the altitude lost by his maneuver, he studied them, watching them as they watched him. There were 6 of them, 3 boys and 3 girls, all of the escaped B subjects alive and present. If he remembered correctly the three eldest would be about 14 years old, and the youngest only six.

It was Angel, the youngest, that his shocked gaze was drawn to. How had she known? She couldn't have seen the files the scientist had on him back in their facility, and of course he hadn't said it out loud, because that wasn't possible. It could have been a guess, but Max's assumption was the more probable conclusion. So how? At that moment he wished he could ask her, but he forced the thought down, it wouldn't do to be distracted in case something went bad and he had to make an escape.

“He can't talk.” She said, her wide blue eyes watching him with some small amount of regret, but also happiness. Joy at having found another like them, even more so because he had been alone before. She had golden blond hair that curled into dainty corkscrew curls, reminding him somewhat of a character from one of the books he had read, Goldilocks.

Flying beside her was the eldest girl. Probably the 'Max' Angel had been talking to. She also had blond hair, but not Angel's golden blonde, more of a soft straw-like blond with sunstreaks. Max was piercing him with a cautious gaze, studying him as he studied her, evaluating him as a threat to those under her protection, probably the leader then.

There were more of them. One raven haired boy with a face that spoke of sullen expressions but at that moment look mostly emotionless, watching, waiting for him to make move in hurting them. Another girl, this one with dark skin – Ah, the Aryan theory disproving one then - and chocolate featuring in both her hair and eyes, she looked kind but seemed like the type to trust too easily, give her confidence too freely. And finally two more boys, one older one dusty brown wings and hair and an easy smile, flying close to another younger boy, this one with cowlick blond hair the same colour as Angel's, he had her eyes too, her brother then.

He was curious about them, wanted to spend more time with them, to learn more about them, truly he did, but it wasn't safe. If the scientists knew he was with them they would try harder to catch them, and if they still had those things then it wouldn't be hard, especially if they were going to be flying over land. He shouldn't risk it, not with what the scientists had planned to do before he escaped.

“Why isn't it safe for you to come with us? If there are more of us then the whitecoats have less chance of catching us on our own” Angel asked, attracting the curious stares of the rest of her companions.

A mind reader, he realized. It bothered him a bit, but probably not as much as it should. The thought of anyone having to see what he had been through was unnerving, even if, like Angel, they had been through something similar themselves. It wasn't something he wanted others to see.

The trackers, he thought, bringing his memory of the small capsule he had held in his hand, still covered in blood from when he had pulled if from his body. Remembering the way the it had blinked at him with a menacing red light for the few seconds before he crushed it into pieces with a nearby rock.

 _'They'll find you if you haven't gotten rid of them'_ , he thought at her and let her see the moment when one of the scientist had underestimated his hearing during the few minutes they had managed to catch him in their nets and revealed the possible existence of the tracking device.

“Oh no.” Angel murmured softly, her distress immediately putting her friends on alert.

“Angel what's wrong?” Max asked, worry obvious in her tone as she moved closer to Angel and took her hands.

“Did he do something?” The dark haired one spoke for the first time, his voice was soft but his eyes were glaring at him now, accusing him. It seemed that he was more realistic in his views of the world, disillusioned to the horrors that humanity could and would commit, that they had committed. Holding a harshness that would help him survive better than the idealistic beliefs in good that seemed to occupy the majority of his companions.

He would do what he needed to do to keep those dear to him safe, that much was obvious, the question was how far he would go when faced with a stranger with equal chance of being their ally or their enemy. But there was something else there, he didn't know what, but something he could see in Fang's eyes that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was gone within moments, replaced by irritation and anger.

“That's not it Fang, there are trackers. That's how they've been finding us!” she told them, looking as if she were on the verge of tears, and she was, small clear tears were pooling beneath her eyes as she talked.

“For real?”

“Oh crap, that's really really bad.”

“But that means that they can find us anywhere!”

“They'll get us again, won't they Max?”

Fear, of capture, of experiments, of losing their freedom, was taking a hold of them, causing the younger ones to panic. Max and the older blond tried to calm them down, taking their hands and whispering assurances that they wouldn't be taken and that Max would never let it happen.

The dark haired one, Fang, he wasn't doing that. Instead he was looking at him and glaring even harder, a look that could melt iron with its heat. With a flap of his dark wings Fang was in front of his, gripping him tightly by the collar of his t-shirt and pulling him further into the air, forcing his larger wings to flap faster to hold him aloft.

“How did you know about the trackers? And how do we know this isn't a trick. That you're not working for the white-coats and waiting to lead them to us as we sleep” Fange demanded, glaring at him with dark brown eyes as he did. He couldn't speak, Angel was busy having a small panic attack, and although he was reluctant, his only other means of proving his story truth was to show them evidence.

Jerking himself for Fang's tight grip, a tough thing as Fang didn't seem keep on letting him go and potentially harming his friends, he pulled up the sleeves of his coat, exposing his arms to the warm sun and cool morning air.

“What are you-” Fang froze at the sight of his scars, so did the rest their the group, all of them drawn to them with horrified fascination. There were dozens of them, all thick and long, cris-crossing his arms, huge and ugly, marring the pale skin of his arms. He didn't uncover them much, they made people stare and take notice of him, something that was never good when your freedom depended on staying under the radar.

“What? What it is?” The older light haired boy asked. He was blind, unable to see the ropes of scarred tissue that decorated his arms. That made sense, it explained why he was staying so close to the younger boy too, probably the one that helped guide him through new environments.

“Scars.” His companion whispered.

Angel had gone pale, she had seen the memory then. Peeked into his mind and watched him find the accursed thing within himself. “He-” She stopped and took a deep breath. “He had to get the tracker out himself, but he didn't know where it was.”

“Ouch,” the dark skinned girl whispered softly after a moment, her fingers twitching slightly looking as if she wanted to touch but knew she shouldn't.

They were still staring at his scars and he shifted slightly, uncomfortable with their eyes on them. He wasn't ashamed of his scars, not by any means, but he wasn't proud of them either, and having 6 people staring at them was 6 too many in his opinion.

Finally they looked away, the spell broken. Fang was still looking, but he was trying to be subtle about it at least, peeking at his scars from the corner of his eye whenever he thought no one was looking. There was something in his eyes, a sort of frustrated confusion swamped under a load of anger and caution...

It was Max who asked the question. But you could see that it was only her asking, instead of any of the others, because she was the leader, and the other respected that it was her decision.

“Would you like to come with us?” She asked. He knew staying with them would put him in more danger. Although he did not mind solitude, he thought he might enjoy company. Especially the company of people like them, it would take some getting used to but he was sure he could deal with it.

He nodded, ducking his head and letting his messy white bangs fall into his eyes before he tucked them behind his ears. He'd never really bothered cutting his hair regularly, only when it started reaching his waist would he procure a knife or a pair of scissors and hack at it until it hung around his shoulders once more. He had found that his hair, while generally having a mind of its own and completely untameable when short, was easier to take care of when long. Thus he kept it long and tied it into loose high ponytail whenever he could get his hands on a packet of hair ties or rubber bands.

It was much later, during the long hours in which they were flying back towards the shore that his unease began to grow and he was swiftly approached by a member of the flock, most of whom he had been introduced to after agreeing to join them. It was Angel.

“You don't have to be scared of land, you know. ” She reassured.

 _'The wind over the land is not as strong, it slows me down and leaves me vulnerable. The only times the scientists have ever gotten close to catching me was when I was on land,'_ he thought towards her, shuddering briefly as he remembered. Land was not a place he liked, not with the dangers it presented. But maybe, he thought when Angel gave him a pleading look accompanied with a small pout, he might become OK with being on land, if only because he had the good company and the safety that came with numbers.

“Max will protect the flock, you're a part of the flock now.”

He snorted, disbelieving of Angel's certainty that one girl could protect them all, a whole 7 people if you counted him and Max herself. _'Max will not be able to protect me better than I protected myself, she is too young to guard us all.'_

“Shes the oldest,” Angel pouted.

He made a sound similar to a chuckle. _'False. Out of the three successful Avian-human hybrids first created the first two were male and the last female. She is younger than them, and much younger than me.'_

“Really?” She asked, her eyes glittering and her cheeks beginning to glow with excitement. News like this, about the flock's origins, details that would be unimportant to a normal person were treasures to those that had lived without them and had been left to wonder, not even knowing their own ages or birthdays and having to guess for each little thing.

_'Yes. I was within the laboratories for a very long time, even before she, Fang and Iggy were born.'_

“Awesome” She said, giving him a cheeky grin before looking to the head of the flock and shouting out, “Hey, Max!”

“Yeah?” Came the return shout from Max, who was flying at the head of the formation. He had been flying near the back of the formation with Angel, so the shout drew the attention of the entire flock.

“Guess what?”

“What?”

“Iggy and Fang are older than you!”

“Yes!” Cried Iggy, pumping his fist in the air. “I knew it.” Fang didn't say anything, but he looked slightly smug from where he flew next to Max, though he did send him a confused look over his shoulder.

“What really?” Max asked, looking amused despite the false glare she was giving both Fang and Iggy. Apparently they hadn't known who was older and had assumed that since Max was more responsible she must be the eldest.

“Yep” She smiled, before pointing at him. “He's been around since before you guys were born.”

They all looked at him and he nodded in agreement, trying to ignore Fang's stare and the miniature look of awe that Gasman was sending him. Being around so many people was new to him, and frankly he felt a bit uncomfortable. Everywhere he looked there was someone when before he could go for days, weeks even, without seeing other people. He felt crowded, cornered by the sudden number of people surrounding him.

Angel didn't seem to notice, or if she did she didn't say anything about it. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Freaking out wouldn't help him at all, and anyway this was what he had wanted, company, and he could deal with it.

“OMG, that is sooo cool! How old are you? When were you born? Do you, like, know everybody's birthdays? Are you really really old or something?” Nudge enthused, slowing down for a moment so that she flew by his side as well. He sent her an apologetic look and shook his head, tapping a finger against his throat then holding a finger to his lips.

“Oh yeah, you can't talk, right? Why not though? Did they do something to your throat like they did to Iggy's eyes or were you born that way? Is it annoying? Does it hurt trying to talk? Have you tried talking or did you just know, you know? Like how I just knew how to fly and walk and stuff?”

He sent her a smile and shook his head again, the rest of the flock had lost interest and were continuing on as normal, or at least what passed for normal around here. Iggy and Gasman were whispering together menacingly, every once in a while bursting out in laughter, while Fang was flying next to Max, holding a hushed conversation with her, both of them sending him watchful looks over their shoulders on occasion. Angel was still next to him, listening to Nudge's rapid fire chatter with practiced ease.

_'Angel?' ___

__“Yes?” She replied, causing Nudge to pause and watch them with interest, her chocolate brown eyes warm and sparkling with happiness._ _

___'Could you help me talk to Nudge for a bit?' ___ _ _

__“Of course! Nudge, I'm going to help him talk, so you can ask some questions. But not too many OK?”_ _

__“Epic! Why can't you talk? How old are you? What sort of bird DNA do you have? What's your name?”_ _

__He gave Angel the answers and let her talk for him. He wouldn't impose on her this way again, only this once._ _

__“He never learnt to talk, so he can't. He doesn't know exactly how old he was but he thinks that he was about 5 years older than Max is now when she she was born.”_ _

__“Thats like 19! Thats old.” She told him seriously._ _

__“Yeah, and that means he's about 24 now.”_ _

__They both looked at him for a moment before bursting out into giggles. Was him being older that funny? Girls were odd. Nudge stopped laughing first. You could practically see the light bulbs going off inside her head._ _

__“You're 24! How can you be that old and only look a few years older than Fang? You look 16, isn't that weird though?” She asked, waving her hand about as she talked, sending him an impatient look when he just laughed and shrugged his shoulders._ _

__“The bird DNA they put in him is raven DNA, ravens live for ages so they grow more slowly.” Angel said with a sweet smile, having just read the thoughts from his own mind. “It probably slowed down his growth or something so he's really only a few years older then Max, it just took him longer to get there.”_ _

__“I get it! Thats really cool, does it mean you'll live forever? Or are you just going to become really really really old for ages? Being old sucks, I hope you don't just turn old then stay old forever, that would suck even more. Wouldn't it?”_ _

__He nodded, smiling hesitantly as he did so. Living forever sounded horrible. Having to watch people die and being forced to live on himself. It wasn't something he would wish on anybody._ _

__“Hey Angel, why do you keep calling him him? Don't you have a name? Is it because you haven't chosen one yet, because you can't speak? Or do you have one and you haven't told us it yet? Is it Bob? Thats a stupid name, you shouldn't be called Bob. You have to have a cool name, like Pikachu or something. Actually please please don't be called Pikachu, I found a better name: MegaBird. Isn't it awesome. Gazzy used to watch a cartoon show called Transformers on the TV. It had a robot called Megatron in it, but you're not a robot so MegaBird is better. So what's you're name?”_ _

__Angel and Nudge looked at him expectantly, both of them widening their eyes and staring at him imploringly. He shrugged noncommittally, not caring one way or another._ _

____'I don't have one. Nobody gave me a name and I haven't really needed one up until now.'__ He didn't want to mention his inability to read or write. It was one of the few things he was ashamed of, though he was trying to fix it._ _

__Angel sent him a pointed look and he knew that she had seen his thoughts, all of them, not just the ones he would have wished for her to see. He vowed to be more careful with his thoughts around her, there were some things in his mind he wouldn't wish anyone to see, let alone a six year old girl, no matter what she had been through. She gave him a reassuring smile and relayed his answer to Nudge._ _

__“What?” Nudge shrieked. “That's terrible, we have to get you one right now. You can't not have a name, how will you know who you are otherwise?”_ _

__“I am me, not having a name never changed that," Angel told her for him and he smiled at Nudge. She calmed down slightly but still insisted they help him choose a name at the soonest opportunity. Which to Nudge was right at that moment, because apparently not having a name was something terrible. Or it was to eleven year old bird girls at least. It sort of made sense, in a twisted way, they had grown up without names so having them must be something very important to them, specifically to the younger members of the flock._ _

__By the time they were leaving the sea and flying over the shore they had gone through a good amount of suggestions, all of them haven't been shot down. So far he hadn't much liked anything they suggested, none of it had really meant anything to him, and if he was going to choose a name he wanted it to be one that defined him, not just some meaningless word._ _

__“What about Loki?” Angel finally suggested._ _

__“Why Loki? That's a bit boring isn't it? Its not long or anything just Lok- key. Why do you want to call him Lock and Key, isn't it a bit odd?”_ _

__“Because Loki was a viking god of magic and trickery, one that could turn into a raven. Looking way younger than he is, thats like magic, and he had raven DNA. Plus ravens are said to be full of tricks, so really it fits.”_ _

__He thought the name over for a moment and then nodded. Loki. He liked that, he liked that a lot. _'I am Loki'_ he thought, then smiled. The absent quirk of his lips sending both Angel and Nudge into a celebratory mood._ _

__“Thats great! Loki's an awesome name, we should like call you the Lockmiester or something. Or Lucky Loki or Loki Ravenwings or Loki Raven.” Nudge gushed._ _

__“Yeah, maybe.” Angel smiled._ _

__._ _

__Over the next few weeks the flock made their way, slowly but steadily towards the Institute in New York. Over that time he slowly became more familiar with his traveling companions, spending long hours chatting, or rather thinking, with Angel and getting to know everybody else. Everybody except Fang that it._ _

__Fang didn't talk much, even to the other members of the flock, but even then he still spared them a word in passing every once and a while. He didn't do the same for Loki, having not spoke one word to him since the accusations he had made when they first met, instead he watched Loki. When Loki woke up and opened his eyes he would sometimes find Fang's own dark brown eyes watching him, other times it was when he was preparing for bed or during the long hours they spent in the air._ _

__It was two weeks after he had joined the flock that he finally had enough. They had settled for the night in a forested area, likely a nature reserve, at least an hours flight from the nearest town. The flock were busying themselves with preparing dinner and getting ready for a nights rest. He had looked up from where he had been collecting wood for the small fire they had made and had caught Fang staring at him. Their eyes had met for a small moment before Fang looked away with what Loki thought might be the start of a blush but was probably just a trick of the flickering light of the fire._ _

__It was the third time that day that he had found Fang looking at him and he'd had enough, it was getting on his nerves and making him paranoid. He sometimes swore that he could feel Fang watching him. He needed some time alone, away from Fang and his ever-present gaze. Dropping off the meager pile of firewood he had found in the center of their makeshift camp he walked over to Max. She saw heard him coming and looked up._ _

__“Loki?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. “Whats up?”_ _

__He shrugged in response and waved a hand vaguely at the forest off to the left before pointing at himself then back over there._ _

__“You're gonna be over there?”_ _

__Loki nodded._ _

__“Ok, sure, but stay close by and come back before dark.” She warned, sending the late evening sky a look, there was likely less than an hour until sundown and who knew what wandered the woods after dark. Nothing good to be sure._ _

__He nodded again and rolled his eyes, then turned and strode out of the camp, feeling his hand clench into fists as he felt Fang's eyes on him again. Taking a deep breath he walked through the trees, letting his feet take him further and further away from the others. Sometimes he thought he almost heard the snap and crunch of footsteps on the forest floor, or the rustle of leaves as they were moved behind him, noise of someone following him, but whenever he turned to look there was be nothing there._ _

__Eventually he heard the sounds of running water and followed the noise to its source. Pushing himself through the leafy undergrowth, he found himself standing on the rocky gravel of a thick and sluggishly moving stream that slithered down the bouldered riverbed, leaving small pools of water trapped in and around the large rocks._ _

__Loki gave the area a quick look, making sure there was nothing about that would prove dangerous if he let his guard down. Seeing nothing to be alarmed of he let out a heavy sigh and sunk to the ground, letting himself slump down on the multitude of smooth pebbles that covered the outer edges of the slow river._ _

__It wasn't cold, but it wasn't warm either and he knew that once the sun set properly the temperature would drop and the night would turn chilly. The thought didn't bother him much, he would be back with the flock by then, lying within the sphere of warmth created by the fire._ _

__His hands had relaxed from their fists as he walked and he lifted one, stretching his arm up and splaying his fingers against the backdrop of the bleeding sky, absently studying the shadows that enveloped his hand as it rested against the slowly darkening and autumn painted clouds of the sunset sky._ _

__He could remember when his hands had been painted in a red not unlike that caused by the dying daylight. Covered in blood both his own and not._ _

__He had killed people when he was escaping the lab, stabbed his hand into their flesh, digging his fingers in, and then using his handhold to tear them apart. He had nightmare about it sometimes, not at much nowadays, years after it happened. But when he first escaped, the way the blood had sprayed everywhere, staining his hands, dying his hair red... the memory haunted him. It was his most popular nightmare, creeping into his dreams at least once a week rather than the nightly visits it had made him for the first few years after his escape._ _

__His only other nightmare was about blood too, but this time his own. The bullet wound he had been given as a parting gift during his struggle for freedom. The way it had bleed so heavily, the rich coppery liquid, still warm from his body, seeping out of him and onto his hand as he tried to stop the blood from flowing. More often it was the rivers of beautiful crimson that had fled his flesh as he searched his body for the tracker. The pain stabbing and never-ending, growing with each cut and spiking as he probed the wound with shaking fingers, looking desperately for something he wasn't even certain was there._ _

__He clenched his fist again, snapping his hand closed, still pointed to the sky as if he could somehow catch it within his fist._ _

__He didn't regret it. Even for the nightmares and the hunger that had stalked him for the first part of his freedom, before he realised what his body could to thanks to the experiments of the people who had made the first part of his life a living hell. He would never regret it, because being free, free of the torture and the pain, the constant subjugation and feeling of restless helplessness, was worth any pain._ _

__Loki was shaking now, small tremors wracking his body. The sun had gone down and it was cold. He hadn't noticed, too wrapped up in his own mind._ _

__Loki didn't move. Max would be angry at him for staying out after dark, but at that moment he didn't care. He let his arm fall to his side and tilted his face upwards, towards the night-time sky that was slowly starting to reveal it jewels, tiny glowing stars, now that the sun had fled the heavens._ _

__Behind him there was a rustle, the tell tale sound of moving leaves and the clinking of footsteps on loose stones. Loki shifted his head slightly, not looking down from the sky, and saw Fang. He had followed him then. It didn't matter much, he had suspected that Fang would, even if he had been irked at the constant attention._ _

__Fang didn't say anything, sensing that Loki wasn't in a talkative, metaphorically of course as he couldn't speak, mood. Instead he came closer and settled down on the stony riverbed beside Loki. A new element to the old picture of Loki's long moments, years even, of solitude._ _

__He didn't talk, didn't make any attempt at communication. Just kept Loki company as he watched the stars, a silent body that seemed to warm his side even though they did not touch._ _

__Eventually though, their silence came to an end when Loki dropped his gaze from the sky and turned his attention to Fang, who fell back and lay on the bed of smooth pebbles, an arm laying over his eyes. Hiding himself in a mockery of embarrassment, his legs still bent, left from where he had been hugging them to his chest to keep himself warm._ _

__“It's really cold.” Was the first thing he said and Loki shrugged. It wasn't that cold to him, but considering he had spent nights flying over the ocean even during the coldest parts of winter and in the cooler parts of the earth, he could not say he would be surprised if he had an ability to deal with large changes in temperature._ _

__“I...” Fang began, but stopped before he could continue. Loki heard him take a deep shuddering breath. Silence reigned for long seconds, the only noise the liquid splashing of the stream and the distant sounds of night animals. Loki turned around, sitting so that he was facing Fang and watched him, waiting for him to continue._ _

__“When I look at people, girls, they're not... not... I don't know, its like their not right or something. Like I'm a cat and they're dogs, something like that. Max is great, shes nice, strong, smart and caring, but... shes not right either, and I know I should like her. I want to like her, but I can't._ _

__“Guys my age, me and Iggy's age really, we're supposed to like girls and stuff. But when I look at them, and I try to like them, because that's what I should like. But I don't, like them at all. And then you come along, and I get it. What people talk about, guys my age... because you're right, different than them and its what I like._ _

__“Fuck, I don't know. You're a guy, and I don't even know about that, and you're like 10 years older than me or something. But its like if they're dogs then you're a cat too, like me. Because we both have raven DNA, so we're the same, and because of it I can't keep my eyes off you. And I don't know, cuz I want to like girls and be normal, having wings already makes me a freak, and being a gay freak with wings isn't... just isn't._ _

__“But I like you, really like you, and I watch you, all the time, dream about you and you make me so- fuck, and you make me so fucking hot, all the fucking time, and I can't stop thinking about you all the time, and now Angel's sending me weird looks and I don't know. I saw you leaving and I followed you and now I'm telling you this shit that I know I shouldn't be telling you and I just don't fucking know what to do anymore.”_ _

__By the time he had finished he was talking so quietly that it was hard to make out what he was saying, but Loki heard._ _

__“Ravens mate for life, for the most part, and the only person I've ever been attracted to is you.” Fang whispered before sitting up and burying his face in his hands, rubbing at his face roughly and sending his shaggy black hair into further disarray. Loki stared at him, his thoughts racing but with no response._ _

__He started slightly when Fang suddenly stood up, his head bowed, making sure not to look at Loki. He began to turn around, ready to leave, mumbling a short 'sorry to bother you' as he did._ _

__He was so confused, because he didn't know exactly what it was he felt for Fang. And he didn't know how to deal with a confession or even the very idea of someone liking him, let alone finding him sexual attractive as Fang had indicated he did. Life as a lab experiment was hardly conducive to good social skills. Frankly it was a bit of a surprise that Fang actually thought he was hot. He knew he was still too skinny, covered in scars, and sort of looked like a goth-emo hybrid what with the makeup around his eyes. Not what would conventionally be called attractive._ _

__Attraction. Lust. Love. It was all a mystery to him, and Loki wasn't sure how he would handle being in a relationship, being with someone. At the moment he hardly knew how to be friends with someone, let alone be a boyfriend or lover or whatever._ _

__All he knew is that he didn't want Fang to leave, and that maybe, just maybe, he sort of felt that way about Fang too..._ _

__Loki caught his arm, stopping him and causing Fang to draw in a sharp breath. He scrambled to his feet pulling Fang around by his arm as he did. They ended up face to face, Fangs eyes widening in surprise for a moment, his tongue peeked out to lick his lips unconsciously, his eyes flickering from Loki's eyes to his lips and back again before he looked away, sighing as he did._ _

__Reaching up with his free hand, his left, the one not holding Fang's wrist, he brushed it to his jaw, gently tilting his head so that Fang's eyes met his own once again. Leaning in, hearing Fang's breath catch as he did, he pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss. Tension that he hadn't noticed fled Fang's body and he slumped against Loki, letting Loki's arms encircle him and pull him closer, deepening the kiss._ _

__Loki swiped his tongue across Fang's lower lip and Fang opened his mouth obligingly, allowing Loki access to the warm inside of his mouth. Their tongues twined and Fang moaned into the kiss, his fingers clutching tightly at the material of Loki's shirt. The quiet noises that had surrounded them seeming to fade into nonexistence, silent in comparison to the shared sound of their heavy breathing when they were forced to stop and breath._ _

__“I-” Fang began but was cut off when Loki kissed him again, this time not lingering with soft chaste kisses, instead diving straight into a deep brutal kiss, all tongue and teeth, making Loki groan minutely and Fang moan with pleasure once more. The kiss lasted as long as they could hold it, trying not to breath for as long as possible until they were force up for air._ _

__A breathless laugh bubbled out from Fangs throat, the first time Loki had heard him make such a noise. He liked it, it made him feel warm inside._ _

__Not the magma heat he had learnt to call hatred, or the seductive simmering burn of arousal that was blazing through his body, it wasn't like them. This warmth was softer, quieter, like a wax candle next to a burning building, easily overlooked when dazzled by the greater heat and fury of lust and hate, but no less powerful, no less beautiful. It was a quiet creeping warmth, one that started small. Lit without ones notice then growing easily, spreading slowly until it was strong enough to set the world on fire. It was that sort of warmth, and Loki knew that if he let it, it would grow and spread, enveloping his being until he was so in love that he would watch the world burn before he let Fang go._ _

__He would let it grow, follow where it took him. Whether it be to happiness or despair._ _

__Loki smiled at Fang, giving the other a sly smile as he tilted his head to the side and bared his neck._ _

____'Mark me,'__ he mouthed, a substitute for talking that Iggy had thought up and then had the rest of the flock help teach him, solving the problem of his inability to speak the words although he knew them. __'Mark me and make me yours, let them see that I belong to you.'___ _

__Fang swallowed harshly, giving him a hesitant look even though his pupils were blown wide with desire. Apparently Fang like that thought. Apparently he like it a lot._ _

__“Are- are you sure?” He asked, eyeing Loki's bared neck with something like conflicted arousal. Loki nodded and tilted his head even further, showing Fang as much of his throat as he could._ _

____'Hard, make it last,'__ he mouthed with a certain finality._ _

__Fang gave him a shaky nod and leaned in. Within moments Loki could feel his moist breath hot against his neck and the tightening grip Fang had taken of his shoulder to hold Loki, or maybe even Fang himself, in place. The next thing he felt was Fang's tongue against his neck, about half way up, a place that would make the mark completely visible and unable to be hidden._ _

__Good, that was what he wanted. Fang was still hesitant, Loki could tell. He didn't press him further, knowing that Fang would take his time and do what he needed to when he was ready._ _

__The act, him marking Loki, it was a promise. A complete acceptance that once he marked him they would be together, mated for life in the fashion of the ravens whose DNA they both held. It was final, intimate. Not something to be rushed. So Loki let Fang take his time, let him lick up and down his neck, searching for the perfect spot to bear his mark, in the end he stopped where he had started, half way up Loki's neck._ _

__At first it was gentle, a soft lave of his tongue pressing against his skin. He nipped and sucked, pressing harder until he could feel the flush of blood rising beneath Loki's skin. Sucking a bruise onto his neck. It evolved, teething coming into play to nibble and tease at his neck. Small hints of stinging bites dancing across his neck. Reaching up an arm, Loki buried his fingers in Fang's hair, letting them tangle lightly in the soft brown tresses and allowing him to push gently, drawing Fang even closer and encouraging him to suck harder, bite sharper._ _

__Fang complied, pulling back for a moment to kiss Loki softly with lips lightly stained with the slightest hint of blood from where he'd bitten a little bit too hard before he returned to the mark, lavishing it with kisses and sloppy swipes of his tongue. Loki shivered against him, tightening his arms around him._ _

__This time Loki winced slightly, there were traces of pain this time as Fang teased the over-sensitive skin. It wasn't long until Fang let go, giving his neck one last lick as he went, wiping away the small pin-pricks of blood that had sprouted on his skin. Loki chuckled at the face he made and used the grip he had in Fangs hair to drag him into another kiss, tasting the faint coppery flavor of his own blood against Fang's tongue. He drew back before the kiss could become too heated, enjoying the way Fang followed him as he pulled back, stealing as many kisses as he could before he had to stop._ _

__His hand dropped from Fang's head, running down his neck and back as it did until it rested on the small of Fang's back, just above the tempting curve of his behind. That was not for now, not yet._ _

__Using his other hand he traced a finger down Fang's neck, asking for permission to return the favor and mark Fang back. That permission came in the form of Fangs bared neck. In the hitch of his breath and nervous swallow that accompanied. In the way the dark of the night seemed to suit him, enveloping him in shadows and crowning him the crownless king of the nighttime hours. Shrouding in swaths of silken darkness and decorating him with wings to match the shadow's colours, feathers that glistened with the same iridescence as Loki's own, giving them a sheen of darkest purple, a royal colour of old, whenever they hit the light._ _

__Biting and marking were not technically avian instincts, but they were human, and sometimes that was enough. A more basic form of humanity that favored the primitive mating bite over a fancy rings or matching tattoos. The spark of power within of Loki was pleased, he was about to mark and claim his mate, just as his mate had done him, but there was something left. Something more animalistic, an instinct from the deeper parts of his avian side._ _

__Following his instincts he spread his wings, displaying them to his mate. Fang's own unfurl in response and Loki felt a pang of satisfaction at the sight. He was ready now, all parts if him appeased, the remaining piece of the mating ritual that had been enforced upon him by the genetics ingrained into his body, either by birth or later tampering._ _

__Bringing his lips to Fang's neck he gave a soft kiss, letting Fang know he was ready. He wasn't as gentle as Fang, nor as patient. Where Fang had taken his time, slowly needling the mark into existence with gentle bite and smooth kisses, he was quick and brutal, biting harshly into Fang's neck without a trace of hesitation. He grinned against Fang's skin, drawing back to lick the wound and plaster it with gentle kisses._ _

__It probably had something to do with having more avian DNA than the rest of the flock, a whole 5% to their 2%. A consequence of being one of the first successes, or rather the first. The scientist had still been figuring out what had worked and so he was left with a whole 3% more than was probably safe, or even healthy, and a set of instincts so much more pronounced that of those who followed._ _

__As he felt the copper liquid of Fang's blood slowly fill his mouth he lingered on the mark, making Fang tense and grit his teeth against the pain as he pressured the slight wound. Reluctantly he released his teeth from his mates neck, kissing the bloody wound softly as he did, and looked into Fang's eyes. The dilated pupils caused by arousal were gone, chased away by the pain, but there was tenderness in those dark brown eyes, the warmth of a single flickering candle glowing in the darkness._ _

__“Lets head back to the flock.” Fang suggested and Loki nodded, taking a step back from Fang and letting him out of his arms. Immediately Fang began to shiver from the cold, another reason to get back, but there was little Loki could do about it. But what little he could do he did, sliding off his coat and draping it over Fang's shivering shoulder and stepping close to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and hugging him to his side, letting out a happy hum as Fang returned the gesture. It wouldn't do for his mate to be cold after all._ _

__It was awkward walking that way, but neither of them let go. Instead allowing themselves to bump into each other and lean on each other as they tripped over stones and dirt on their way back, pulling each other out of the paths of trees and holding the heavy branches away from each other as they went._ _

__Nobody in the flock said anything when they arrived, but Angel was giving them a look that said 'about time' and the rest of the flock seemed to be trying their hardest to not look at the red marks that adorned both their necks. That night the slept side by side, Fang closer to the fire with Loki pressed against his back and his arms around him. Loki woke first that morning, long before any of the others, and he used the small privacy they had to kiss Fang awake, watching with amusement as Fangs eyes flew open and smothering the moan that ensued._ _

__Freedom really was brilliant._ _

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea about that end bit... Every time I tried to change it to something less 'vampire-y bitey' my muse threatened to shoot my imagination in the head. Oh well, hope you liked it.


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